Barefoot and pregnant
by S'Fie
Summary: Snape scowls, Harry is an annoying twat, tea is served and Snape scowls some more


A/N: I have no idea where this came from. Basically, just a drabble without any plot whatsoever. I've decided to write something about Snape living after the final battle, unfortunately, it killed Minerva. (I know, I'm evil) As usual, everything you recognize belongs to Rowling and publishers.

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Headmaster Severus Snape sat musingly at the head of the table, waiting for all his staff to assemble and stop chattering like demented monkeys. Even after two weeks, they still were a bit shell-shocked by his sudden return to the land of the living.

Of course, it doesn't happen every day that an infamous double-spy, safely relegated to the history books, suddenly turns up on your doorstep like an unwanted relative. You know, the one with that alcohol-problem no one ever mentions, but everyone knows about.

To be honest, most of the older staff took his reappearance with equanimity and a severe lack of surprise. Severus blamed the old cat for being a gossiping little biddy. Septima, for instance, just looked him over when he bumped into her in the corridor, smiled and told him he looked good. Him. Looking good. Severus scowled at the thought.

Filius, sitting next to him, quietly leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"Stop scowling. You're scaring the newbies."

Severus cleared his face from every expression and looked around the table. The 'newbies' were watching him rather nervously. It made him wonder exactly what the stories going around about him entailed.

Three years ago, after the final battle and his consequent 'death', Severus decided he needed some peace and quiet, far, far away from Hogwarts and all the memories it provoked. He left the care of the Hogwarts house-elves the moment he was able to stand on his own two feet without falling flat on his face, packed some essentials, said his goodbyes only to Minerva (and almost gave her a heart-attack in the process), flipped the portrait of the former headmaster the finger and left in a flourish of robes. Intending to never _ever_ return.

It had felt so right to be away from Hogwarts with its stifling demands. From Britain with its bigotry, and especially from the Terrible Trio. Living in some obscure little village in the back end of nowhere, tinkering with his potions, going were he wanted when he wanted it. Severus was content.

And now he was back. Severus scowled again. Dragged back by his figurative hair after the death of Minerva, by one third of the Trio. The annoying, aggravating, stubborn part of the Trio, who had the audacity to stun him and slug him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Aka _Potter._

The rather loud closing of the door interrupted his ruminations. He looked around. Everyone except Pomona was assembled. Even Potter sat waiting in his chair, watching him with an annoying smirk on his face. The scowl deepened. Most of the staff, were reaching the stages of nervous wrecks by now. Except for Potter of course. The DADA teacher lounged in his chair, like an indulgent cat, watching Severus with triumphant satisfaction. Apparently, it had taken him only six months to find the back end of nowhere. The annoying twat.

Someone rapped the door and entered. Pomona looked a bit windswept and flustered. "My apologies headmaster." She said and took the empty chair on his left. "The errand to Hogsmeade took longer than I expected."

Severus gave her a curt nod and silenced the room with a simple clearing of his throat. "Now that we're all here, we can start our meeting. Firstly I'd like to go over the budget for the next semester. Mr. Fredericksson if you would?" Severus looked expectantly at his deputy, an older man with the pinched face of a born accountant. Severus couldn't stand the pompous ass, but he couldn't deny the man had done an excellent job in getting Hogwarts finances up to par after the enormous repair costs left by the final battle.

He let the voice of Fredericksson fade to the background. He'd heard the report before the meeting after all.

He'd never expected to be right back were he left. In the headmasters' chair. Minerva's death had come as a shock to everyone who knew the old biddy. Though as nails, but the last years of the war had apparently taken too much out of her. She'd died quietly in her sleep, her heart just giving out one night.

And no matter how much the Ministry loved to proclaim otherwise, they didn't choose the headmaster of Hogwarts. Nor did the Board of Governors. And didn't that little fact put the interfering busybodies in a frenzy. According to the paintings, it was the headmaster who chose his successor, and if he, or in this case she, couldn't, the castle would choose herself. Who knew that thousand years of magical wards, powerful objects and magical beings combined with unchecked adolescent magic in one location would give you a sentient castle? One with the mind of a spoiled toddler, alas. Who wanted him back, and didn't take no for an answer. Neither did Potter, when he ambushed Severus on the way home from the village.

He tuned back into the meeting. Fredericksson was almost finished, it seemed. Severus longed for a cup of tea and had to bite back a curse when house-elves popped in and started serving high tea.

Fredericksson sputtered to a halt. Most of the staff eyed the proffered tea and sandwiches suspiciously. Apparently, serving tea during meetings was Not Done. Severus carefully kept his face a bland mask and sipped the tea standing in front of him. Harry looked at him with amusement dancing in his eyes, and started to make himself a cup of tea to his liking. Filius quietly groaned and muttered something about castles being enablers of bad habits. Pomona on his other hand just took it all in stride and started in on a sandwich. The rest of the staff followed their example unsurely, handling the tableware as if it could explode every moment.

Severus gave it up for a lost cause and turned to Pomona.

"Did you manage to buy everything I needed?" he asked as if everything happening was completely normal.

"I believe I did. I'm not really sure about two ingredients on your list though, maybe you should ask Potions Mistress Peregrine to do your shopping next time." Unfortunately Peregrine, a no-nonsense woman, twice Severus age and almost evenly matched in the bad temper department, heard the comment.

"Do I look like a delivery service to you?" she snapped at Pomona.

Pomona looked at Severus questioningly. Severus pursed his lips sourly. It had to come out sooner or later and better it be on his terms. He sighed internally and waited until Peregrine brought her teacup to her lips.

"Hogwarts isn't willing to let me leave," He explained in a mild-mannered way. Peregrine raised a questioning eyebrow behind her cup.

"She is keeping me barefoot and pregnant." He added blandly.

The resulting coughing, clattering and even spewing of tea around the table was a real sight to see. Severus smirked evilly, while his staff tried to discreetly vanish the spilled tea and half-masticated food. Peregrine had turned a quite lovely shade of red, while Septima and Fredericksson were trying to cough up a lung. Potter started to clap Septima on the back and shot him a questioning look.

Severus hid his discomfort behind snarkiness.

"I had thought most of you had figured it out by now. Do you really think I like wearing long robes? Velvet robes? And soft mocassins? One foot outside the castle doors in this weather, would freeze my arse off. My own clothes disappeared the moment the house-elves could get their sticky, little fingers on them." Here he scowled at an unfortunate house-elf cleaning up the table, it vanished with a squeak.

"And for some reason, there is no Floo-powder when I want to leave, no matter the fact there is plenty when I want to make calls." Another scowl, this time directed in the general location of the ceiling.

"Okay, I get the barefoot part," Potter said, grinning, "but you hardly look pregnant, headmaster."

Filius turned twinkling eyes on Severus and clasped his hand.

"Congratulations my dear," he said pompously "it's, let's see, 168 boys and 135 girls."

Severus scowled some more and hid his face behind his teacup.


End file.
